This Might Hurt (Stydia-Teen Wolf)
by tristenisaboss
Summary: Stiles finally has his chance with Lydia.. but will an old friend come back to take it all away?


_This might hurt_.

Those were the words that flashed in his mind when Lydia said yes; _yes she would go out with him_.

This might hurt, he reminded himself, almost wanting to pull away from her, almost wanting to push her back and say, "This is a mistake. You're going to hurt me."

But Stiles Stilinski had loved her since third grade and the remote chance to be with her for a single day, for a single hour, was so completely intoxicating that he couldn't tear himself away. He wouldn't have been able to cope with the regret if he did so.

Lydia looked up at him and her brows furrowed slightly, like she sensed something wrong, so Stiles pulled her close and soaked himself in the smell of her hair.

But instead of saying what he was thinking, Stiles pulled her close and mumbled, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," against her long tresses, into the nape of her neck, along the warmth of her skin.

If Lydia Martin was poison, Stiles Stilinski would drink every drop and let his mind wrap around her til' his thoughts went black.

_This might hurt_.

For a while, Stiles had been able to stomp out the voice. Until it came back with a vengeance when Stiles had his first real fight.

It was stupid and petty, but then it wasn't, because she was his and he was hers and jealousy is a livid, wild thing that he couldn't control.

Because Jackson Whittemore had just moved back from London. Lydia Martin, the only person he felt a true connection with, the girl who he couldn't let go of even when they were an ocean apart, and he was staring right at her. And he had returned, perhaps under the guise of many reasons, but Stiles could swear that he had returned _for her_.

It's not Jackson's fault that Stiles hated him. It was Lydia's. The way she looked at him. The way she talked about him. The way he'll always be hers even when she's not his. Lydia expects attention and Jackson knew it. He eyed Stiles walking down the hall, quickly leaning on Lydia's locker and twirling her strawberry blonde hair between his thin fingers, looking at her with these gentle eyes that were reserved for Lydia Martin alone.

People were staring and they were expecting Stiles to do something, to live up to his title as her boyfriend. But Lydia didn't notice. She was soaking up every second of Jackson's flattery. She thrived for that kind of flattery and had mastered dealing with the attention. She insisted it was nothing and a little flirting never hurt anybody.

Except now it was hurting him. A lot.

Stiles kept watching as Jackson continued to make Lydia laugh. He knew when Lydia was really laughing, because she bites her bottom lip slightly when she giggles.

Stiles tried to be reasonable, he tried to be patient. He tried to accept her for who she was and the competition he would have to face in protecting this delicate relationship.

Stiles stopped walking and leaned against Scott's locker. Scott started talking about Allison, but Stiles wasn't really listening. He was thinking about the last time he saw Jackson. It was right after Jackson had turned. He was finally a werewolf and it was all because of Lydia's love. Stiles rolled his eyes at the thought of it.

"I do. I do still love you," the words that escaped Lydia's mouth that night kept playing like a broken record in his head. Would she always love him? Would she continue to pretend to love Stiles the way she loved Jackson?

Lydia bit her bottom lip.

Stiles heard Scott saying his name, but he was already on his way towards Jackson and Lydia. He pulled Jackson away and there was punching—_this might hurt_—as was necessary in the war over the most beautiful woman, _and he lost_.

Naturally.

They were both sent to the principal's office and the last thing Stiles saw before leaving, was Lydia staring after them. She looked pale. Fragile. He was sure that she was furious because he fought for her and made a fool of himself. He sat helplessly in front of the principal's office wondering how he could have done better.

It was after school and Stiles had been released from detention. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he walked the empty halls and thought up what seemed to be a million different scenarios in which he could explain himself to his dad. Maybe he should sleep over at Scott's tonight.

The drive home was silent as he kept checking his phone at every red light and stop sign. He had two missed calls from his father and a text message that requested his immediate return home, one missed call from Scott, a text message from a girl who wanted to borrow his notes, but nothing from Lydia.

He pulled into his driveway and slung on his backpack, slamming the door of his jeep closed. Walking up the front steps to his house and prepping himself for his father's immediate interrogation, he caught a glance at the side view mirror that revealed a busted lip and a black eye. That wasn't really going to help the situation.

Maybe he could say he walked into a pole. Yeah. That sounded like him.

He stood in front of the door and took a few deep breaths, working through his excuse and suddenly, the door opened.

_This might hurt_.

But it was Lydia with that smile that melted everything in his being. She reached her hand out and pulled him inside.

Apparently she had already explained everything to his dad and the sheriff really had no way of fighting against the articulate and brilliant words of Lydia Martin.

In his room, she apologized for not responding, her phone had died. She wasn't mad, and explained how she thought it was heroic. Stupid, but heroic. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. Stiles smiled. He leaned in to kiss her lips but her hand stopped him.

"Bloody lip. Not cute," she said with a crooked smile.

There was a long pause. "Stiles," she sighed. This might hurt. "I love you," she continued. Her words caught him off guard. "You know that, right?" He just smiled and pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

If dating Lydia Martin meant heading into battles waged in her name, Stiles Stilinski would fight till he was pummeled down or until he could get back up again.

If loving Lydia Martin meant a lifetime of busted lips and bruised cheeks, Stiles Stilinski would wear the wounds like a warrior.

If Stiles Stilinski loved Lydia Martin, he would let her go. Even if it hurt.

But he didn't have to.


End file.
